


Wreckage

by HardshipsUnnumbered



Series: A Tuft of Blonde Hair [1]
Category: Prospect (2018)
Genre: Abandonment, Blood and Injury, F/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27931327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardshipsUnnumbered/pseuds/HardshipsUnnumbered
Summary: Three years before Cee and Damon land on the Green Moon, Ezra's ship crashes in the dusty forests. He is not the only one stranded.
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Original Character(s)
Series: A Tuft of Blonde Hair [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045278
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Wreckage

**Author's Note:**

> here's my shot at writing ezra! it's... hard. not saying i don't use big words whenever i can as well, but his specific ramble is difficult to pin down.

There was blood on her hands, a deep crimson color that bloomed slowly over the white flooring of the drop pod. Her partner, a naive soul just barely into adulthood, was slack in his belt, rivulets of the sticky red oozing from the side of his skull.

"G-" The boy slurred her name, his tongue rendered inept from the loss of blood. "Vera," He tried again, beautifully green eyes fluttering open and closed. "I-I'm sorry, I messed up th'entry-"

He was choking now, his own plasma leaking from honeyed lips. Lips that had never gotten a chance to kiss or be kissed. Cradling his head, watching as his blonde curls turned scarlet, Guinevere offered a weak smile.

"Peter, you did your best. _They_ fucked our drop off, not you." She spat the words like a curse before softening again, if only for the boy in her arms. "Listen to me, you're gonna be okay. Your wound isn't that bad, and the kit is just over there."

Peter nodded, closing his eyes. Vera looked up into the space above them, watching the cargo ship disappear through the Green Moon's atmosphere, and swore under her breath.

"V-Vee, we haven't even landed yet," Peter began again, his voice barely above a whisper. "How are you going to-"

"Shh, Pete." Vera kissed his forehead softly, her lips slickening with the coppery taste of his blood. She almost gagged. "I've got you."

She removed one hand from the boy's shoulders, sliding her fingers down her ribs until she met the holster strapped to her right thigh. Whispering an apology to Peter, thankful his big green eyes were closed, Guinevere fired. 

* * *

_If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?_

Ezra thumped the filter at his neck with a grunt, his breath sputtering as dust lifted from the metallic surface. It had been three hours since Number Two had pointed a gloved finger to the sky, his helmet raising, then lowering slowly to the ground. On cue, the thunderous noise of a drop pod entering the atmosphere too fast screamed over the trees, audible even through the thick spacesuits. Ezra had cringed at the booming crash that echoed after, then grinned. Perhaps the wreckage would have supplies if it had not been completely destroyed, and that was exactly what they were in need of. Food had run out two days ago, and Ezra was starving. It didn't help that his oxygen filter was packed to the gills with dust either, and he was now relying on his silent partner's canister. He guessed he really _did_ talk too much.

His own wreckage was halfway across the lush celestial sphere, littered with the bodies of his crewmates. Their deaths had been their own faults, each of them victims to their foolish pride. They had not wanted to return to the Green Moon again, not with the perilous dust, and now their bodies would rest there forever. It was an ironic end that only Ezra and Number Two had walked out of, barely able to scrounge supplies from the smoking heap of rust. That had been cycles ago- too long to remember how many- and they were already almost bled dry.

The new wreckage was a sight to behold, a smoldering crater blasted in the middle of the silent trees. The pod had obviously landed bottom first and skid some ways, breaking apart over the expanse of land. Miraculously, the cockpit was mostly intact, still barred off from the toxic spores floating lazily through the air. Without having to be told, Number Two stalked away from the leftovers, following the trail of wreckage back for any loose crates. Grinning, Ezra unholstered his thrower, palming the grip in his gloved hands. It had been a while since he had to use the damn thing, and the adrenaline was already pumping through his veins.

The door was easy to bust open, already battered to near submission from the crash. It only took a well-placed boot to the metal to send the thing flying, but it nearly bounced back into his face upon hitting another wall. Shocked, Ezra ducked, letting out a low whistle. 

"I find myself in the wonderful predicament of stumbling upon an upper-class fool," He muttered to himself. "Money cannot buy intellect, it seems."

The second door slid open and shut behind him after a few moments of fiddling with the controls, and finally, Ezra was in the cockpit. The white cabin, which he knew should have been sterile and pristine, was bathed in light from the window above, giving him a glimpse of the horror before his eyes. Blood was spattered everywhere, both dried and fresh. In the middle, still draped in the pilot's seat, was a young boy of barely eighteen, his head split open for the world to see. On the other side, by his temple, was a clean hole. 

"Someone has granted you the privilege of mercy in these trying lands," Ezra frowned sympathetically, stepping forwards to nudge the boy with his boot. "I can only hope with an honest affliction that you will not be terribly disconcerted if my partner and I appropriate your bountiful supplies."

He spun on his heel suddenly, pointing his thrower into the dark recesses of the cockpit. From the shadows, a rifle was aimed back at his helmet, the hand on the trigger stained with deep, crimson blood. Only the forearm of the assailant was visible in the inadequate light, and he squinted quizzically. The nails on the thrower were painted black.

"I must thank you for considering my partner's feelings on the matter," A feminine tongue slithered from the dark. "But I need my stuff, stranger, just as much as you."

The thrower disappeared into the dark as the woman lowered her arm, stepping into the light. Ezra was shocked to see a mane of thick, rose-colored hair, washed out to a dusky pink from the chlorine showers of the cargo ship that had undoubtedly dropped her off. Her eyes, he noticed, were a striking shade of ice-blue, her lips stained red. For a brief, foolish moment, he wondered if she'd drank the poor boy's blood, but he shook the thought off as soon as it came. Dropping his own weapon to his side, Ezra holstered his thrower, undoing his helmet from his neck. If she was able to breathe, he would be alright. Conserving his oxygen filter was vital.

"I undoubtedly must confess," He began, his throat bobbing as he took the stranger in. "I did not anticipate a single survivor from a descent such as your own, if you may pardon me for assuming."

The woman wore a tunic that had once been a deep virescent hue, but it was now stained the color of the unfortunate pilot's blood. At her right hip, a slit began, allowing room for the holster strapped at her thigh. Her slender legs- which were trembling, Ezra noticed- were covered in thin, dark material, disappearing into her heavy-soled boots. She had an oxygen filter swung around her neck, and he realized she had expected to be thrown straight into the Green's destructive particles, with not even a moment to pull on a suit. He suddenly appreciated the woman before him, understanding now that this was not some rich fool.

"I propose an agreement." Ezra licked his lips, dry from the stale air in his suit. "My filter is irrevocably and utterly spent, and I will soon accompany if I cannot acquire a replacement." The woman was staring at him now, slowly raising her dark brows. They disappeared into the thick fringe that framed her features, the rest of her locks swaying near her waist. 

"You want my stuff," She said slowly, leaning heavily against the bloodstained wall of the cabin. "For what in return?"

"A fellowship!" Ezra grinned, waving his hands in the air. "You appear knowledgeable and competent; you must understand that this pod of yours will not withstand the Green's virulent atmosphere for much longer. I am proposing an honest partnership between the three of us, yes indeed."

"Three?" The woman tilted her head. "Ah, _your_ partner." She cast a mournful look at the boy drenched in scarlet, swallowing thickly. 

"Yes," Ezra rambled emphatically. "I believe only our namesakes remain in question, yes? I'm Ezra. Regrettably, I haven't a name in the galaxy to give you for my partner. He is simply Number Two."

The woman pushed herself from the wall, and Ezra noticed again that she was trembling. Of course- she had her own wounds. A particularly nasty one ran from the back of her left ribs to the front, likely from being thrown into the arm of her seat. It was hard to tell how much of the blood on her was her own, but judging by her mobility and consciousness, it seemed to be much less. Ezra wondered faintly if she'd been in a crash before. 

"My name is Vera," The woman finally revealed, reaching back to tie her long hair into a low ponytail. "For Guinevere." She missed Ezra's beaming face as she scoured the floor for her suit, pulling it on over her slender body. Her frame all but disappeared into the thick material, and she briefly wrestled with the holster at her thigh before attaching it again on the outside of her uniform. 

"Queen Guinevere?" Ezra asked innocently. "From Arthur-"

"Yeah," She interrupted, souring his expression. "From Arthurian Legend." Then, a wry smile crossed her face. "You aren't the first to call me that, Ezra."

His name sent sparks through Ezra's veins, igniting his flesh underneath layers of cotton and nylon. It had been too long since his own moniker had tumbled from lips that were not his own, and it felt like he'd been plunged into warm water after days in ice. Vera was unaware of his internal turmoil, slipping the helmet over her pale face with a soft _thunk_. She reached forwards, grabbing the radio strapped to his waist, and scanned the number on the analog screen. A moment later, she motioned to his helmet, which he scrambled to place back on. Moments later, her voice was crackling into his ear.

"I can tell you're a prospector, Ezra." He ignored the way she said his name, ringing through his bones like a church bell. "I recognize I don't look it, but I know how to dig Aurelac from the pits too. I can help, but I want a cut."

"Done," Ezra's voice rasped before he could even think, realizing he hadn't consulted Number Two. It wasn't like his partner would respond, anyway. "Did... did you want to do anything for the kid?"

Vera cast one last look backward, her cerulean eyes soft. "No," She responded after a moment. "I won't bury him in this godforsaken dirt. Peter... I didn't know him for very long, but I did know that he loved piloting, even if it just was a drop ship. I think he'd want to stay."

Ezra nodded dumbly, gesturing outside. "Number Two followed your miraculous trail of resources, but I'd reckon he didn't ascertain an enormous amount that remains intact."

"Oh, shit." Vera paused in the doorway, caught between the dust and the cabin. "Wait here, I forgot about the damn emergency pack."

Ezra's expression lit up again as she ducked back inside, tilting his head to the sky. He imagined he could see the central ship Vera and her companion had fallen from, wondering if it had been as derelict and cold as he remembered them to be. If he ever got off this damn moon-

"Hey, I'm back." Vera's soft voice crackled in his ear, startling the prospector. He turned just in time to see her sling a duffel bag over her shoulder, gripping the strap with a gloved hand. "There's admittedly not much- but oh, there should be oxygen filters. Other than that, there's some Bits Bars, slurry, and a sustaining tent, I think. Is that your partner?"

Ezra jerked his head back, his hand falling to his thrower in case it was _not_ Number Two. Fortunately, the familiar, dark suit of his silent companion assuaged his fears, and his hand fell back to his side. 

"Sorrowfully, it appears this drop pod will not be our sanctuary back to the populated galaxy," Ezra crowed as soon as Number Two came within reach of the radio signals, waving a hand. "Hitherto, we have been a team of joint individuals, you and I, but today, we welcome a third. This is Guinevere."

"Hi," Vera piped up. "Do you need a filter as well?"

Number Two nodded almost imperceptively, and Ezra moved to translate his stoicism. Surprisingly, the woman had caught his unfamiliar communication, jiggling the bag on her shoulder with a lopsided grin. "Got them here."

Satisfied, his partner nodded again, gesturing to the crate he had dragged back. Vera glanced at the box for only a moment before sighing, pursing her lips.

"More Bits Bars," She explained. "There were cases of 'em on the ship in these fuckin' indestructible boxes. I'm sure you could find more."

Number Two turned away, marching through the crumpled reeds without instruction once again. Ezra admired that in him; he didn't need to be told what to do. An idiotic partner was a death sentence on the Green Moon, truly. Number Two might have been excruciatingly silent, but he was not an idiot.

"Our encampment is a providentially short distance from your wreckage, you'll find," Ezra babbled into his mic. "This is fortuitous, as the evening will soon be upon our battered selves. Do you-" He licked his lips again, knowing that would only dehydrate them worse in the end. "Do you require a replacement of attire?"

Vera gave him a look as they walked, their boots thudding rhythmically on the ground. "You talk funny," She tittered after a moment, reaching up to playfully knock on his helmet. She didn't have to reach far, truly, as her face came up to his neck already. "And yes, thank you. I... we weren't planning on staying long. I didn't bring much, and I doubt it would've survived if I had, anyway."

Ezra nodded sympathetically, falling into his most favored tactic to fill the silence, recounting stories. To his delight, Guinevere seemed to really be listening, laughing and nodding in all the right places. It was refreshing to have someone to talk to again, and he almost mourned the sight of their tents hidden in the woods. But when Vera dipped her hand into the bag, pulling out a thick blanket instead of canvas, his heart soared again.

"That is _not_ a tent." Vera frowned apologetically. "I'm afraid I'll have to infringe on you a bit more, Ez."

"Not a problem," Ezra blurted all too quickly. "My shelter is adequate enough for both of us. Number Two has his own, you see? He never liked sticking around at night. I'll remain outside while you clean yourself up, and please, help yourself to my apparel if necessary."

Guinevere nodded and ducked inside the sunbleached red flaps, the dust that had settled on the canvas spewing into the air. Some time later, the fabric rustled, and he took it as his cue to scramble inside. After he finished zipping the flaps, turning on the oxygen filters above, Ezra pulled off his helmet, opening his mouth to speak. Instead, he was struck dumb by the sight of Vera's slender body, draped in a grey pullover that was a few sizes too big on her thinner frame. Peeking out from the hem was a pair of tartan shorts, and he nearly bowled over. Those were his _boxers_.

"I hope this is alright," Vera smiled coyly, shrugging her shoulders. The ratty sleeves of his pullover bunched at her right wrist but slipped over her left hand entirely, and Ezra licked his lips for a third time. She _had_ to know how she looked.

"I-It's fine," He replied after a moment. "It suits you, I wholeheartedly believe. You're really just missing that holster."

Guinevere laughed, a melodic, unfamiliar sound. "I'll take that as a compliment, prospector." 

"I meant it so." Ezra grinned back, peeling his suit from his body after a long moment of unfastening everything. He was wearing similar, threadbare clothes; after all, both outfits came from _his_ wardrobe. "But indulge this old prospector, Guinevere; where do you call home? Why drop onto this forsaken place?"

Vera shrugged again, perching herself on the cot he did not occupy. The blanket she'd pulled out earlier was now laying on top, and she pulled it up to her knees. "Same as anyone else, I guess. Peter... well, he needed to mine, but he was certainly not of the talent. I've been in the business longer, so I agreed to be his partner. We had a couple of meager successes on other planets until- well, you know."

Guinevere suddenly looked exhausted. "What about you, though?" She pressed on, kicking her legs fully onto the cot. "Why are you here?"

Ezra grunted as he followed suit, smoothing out his helmet-hair. "Me? I'm merely a drifter, birdie." The nickname slipped without pause. "I plummetted here additionally, cycles ago, with Number Two. We've been waiting for a way to sling back to no avail."

"So far," Vera reminded him. "I am dreadfully sorry our pod isn't in working condition anymore. I would've signaled. If not for you, at least for myself."

Ezra snorted out a laugh, falling uncharacteristically silent. When he turned to look at her, opening his big mouth to speak again, she was out.

"Damn," He muttered, laying back against his lumpy excuse of a pillow. 

Above, light filtered in through the slats in the cleanser, strobing weakly between each rotation of the fan blades. He heard Number Two's heavy footsteps, then the zippering noise of his silent companion's tent, blocking the man off from the world. Good, at least he was back, and hopefully with more food. Realizing for the first time that he actually could _eat_ , Ezra sprung from the cot, delving into Guinevere's duffle bag. When he returned triumphantly with a Bits Bar in hand, he tore open the wrapper, gnawing off the corner as the sunlight faded. When finally, his hunger was satiated for the first time in days, Ezra crawled back into bed. 

"Night," He croaked into the darkness. Not for the first time, there was no response.


End file.
